


Of Angels and Demons

by biird_s



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Comedy, Eventual Smut, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Hunter!John, M/M, Romance, Slow Build, Superlock AU, angel!Sherlock, john literally cannot stand him, sherlock is an arrogant lil shit
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-09-28
Updated: 2013-10-07
Packaged: 2017-12-27 21:17:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/983724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/biird_s/pseuds/biird_s
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John didn't think meeting an archangel would cause this much trouble.</p><p>[ Based off of Supernatural (TV)<br/>Chapters Done: 2/15 ]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Meeting

Just because he was an archangel, that didn't make it okay for him to be an ass about it. John was a hunter. He knew how to hold his own and he didn't need some asshat following him around and telling him how to do things. He'd been hunting for almost two years and he knew how things worked. Being in the military, he knew how to hold his own against any supernatural creatures. But, God had to step in and make sure that he was alright. The archangel would probably slow him down and that proposition didn't seem very nice at all.

John'd been working out the details of a case when he'd appeared. The man seemed to be in his thirties; tall, pale, and thin as a bean pole. Dark curls massed upon his head and dropped down to almost his thin eyebrows. Pale grey eyes, sharp cheekbones, and a hawk-like nose pulled his face altogether. He wore a dark navy coloured overcoat, a grey scarf, dark pants covering his legs, and dark shoes. In any other case, he would have said that he was fairly charming, but John was too busy with the fact that a man he didn't know was standing in his flat.

John let out a startled yelp, his eyes widened in shock as he reached for his pistol in its holster on his hip. The man responded however, his lips twitched into a small smirk at his actions.  
"You won't be needing that, Dr. Watson," he said, his voice a deep, rich baritone that reverberated in a pleasing fashion against his ears. He didn't falter, however, gun now pointed to his head in shock and slight fear.  
"Sherlock Holmes, Archangel and Consulting Detective. I've been sent by God to be your guide. Lower your gun or I'll do so for you," Sherlock spoke, smirk growing into an amused grin. 

John slowly lowered his gun and stared at him, bewildered.  
"My guide?" he questioned, before furrowing his brow, "No, I don't need any help." This received a scoff from the tall man.  
"Preposterous. I wouldn't be here if you did not need me," Sherlock responded, straightening his scarf.  
"You're an archangel?" he repeated. An angel? Sure, John believed in God and Heaven and Hell, but he never figured he'd come face to face with an Archangel. The angel rolled his eyes in response, obviously aggravated already with his amount of naivety.  
"Yes, an archangel. If you're going to stand there gawking like an imbecile, I suppose I should be on my way," Sherlock said, huffing softly as feathers shuffled and wings manifested on his back.  
"If you need me, pray. I can hear your thoughts and I will be at your assistance as soon as needed."

With that, he was gone in a flurry of rustling feathers, leaving a bewildered and confused John standing with his mouth agape. Closing his lips, he looked down, spying a grey feather sitting upon the carpet. He kneeled and picked the small feather up, inspecting it closely. It was a dark grey colour with a green and blue sheen on its tip. The spine was white, contrasting the fibers of its body. An archangel. Boy, was John in for some fun.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Sherlock begin their new partnership.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took so long for this chapter to come out! I've been majorly busy and my mental health has also been to blame. My apologies. Enjoy!

John didn't want to call Sherlock down to help him. It seemed useless for him to do so because he was fine on his own. Yes, perfectly fine. Even when he found the demon that he was looking for, he wasn't going to call. Not when he was pinned down and about to get sliced open, nope. John wouldn't call at all. He knew how to handle the black-eyed demon that had him in his clutches. But, there he was, pinned against the ground as the beast tried to slit his throat. His arms strained with the struggle to keep the knife from plunging into his neck. A fateful slip caused the hand above him to move down with the quickness of a cobra snake. The tip met contact with his stomach and a gasp was pulled from his lips.  
" **Sherlock!** " he cried out against his will and a flurry of feathers sounded behind him. Relief washed over him like a waterfall as the tall, dark-haired male quickly got the demon off of him. His palm was pressed to the demon's forehead, and with a loud scream and a flash of light, it seemingly disintegrated.

"You should have called sooner. I saw your struggle," Sherlock stated, padding back over to where John lie on the ground. The blonde was gasping softly as pain shuddered from the stab wound in his side, teeth gritted behind his lips to hold his composure. The knife had to be serrated and was buried to the hilt underneath his rib cage. It didn't hit any vital organs that he could tell, but the pain was still excruciating. John's eyes met Sherlock's, then narrowed. Without warning, Sherlock ripped the knife from his abdomen, causing blood to splatter upwards with the force. Pain radiated much more feverishly from the wound as the serrated edges tore into his flesh on the way out. Blood bubbled from the wound and John cursed loudly and jolted upwards, only to have a strong hand to his chest. With another flash of light, the pain quickly subsided and the wet feeling of fresh blood dribbling from the wound ceased.

John looked startled, staring down at the place where the puncture wound once was. His eyes then flicked up to Sherlock, who surveyed his work and dropped the knife onto the cement. The shorter male quickly got to his feet, staring at him with confusion.  
"If you saw everything, why didn't you come sooner?" he implored, his voice pitched with aggravation.  
"You didn't call. If you died, it was hardly my concern. We could have found another," Sherlock stated bluntly as he brushed blood off of his trousers. John wanted to punch him straight in the mouth. He refrained, however, because with his angelic strength, there would have been extreme pain with the effort. John rolled his eyes and brushed himself off, brushing his fingers through his hair to straighten his tussled blonde locks.  
"You're arrogant," John said, his voice blunt and irritated. Sherlock gave him a reprimanding look.  
"If you were an archangel, you would be, too," he responded, the shadows behind him showing that his wings shifted proudly. It wasn't even the first day they'd worked together and John already couldn't stand him. Boy, was he in for a joy ride.

Sherlock quickly became a regular on his expeditions and battles against demons. It was as if he didn't leave his side and soon pretty much moved into his flat. It was rather funny, really. John had a flatmate, but this flatmate was an archangel. He had strange habits, as well. He never slept, and never ate. John didn't know whether it was because he didn't need to or if he didn't want to. He drank tea, however, and liked to try and boss John around. His bossing was usually a fruitless effort, however, much to his frustration. Sherlock also liked to move John's belongings when he wasn't looking, saying that it "wasn't anything but child's play." He liked to mess with him with his telekinesis, but never nothing serious. John received tales and stories out of his companionship with the archangel, though. They were all elaborate and interesting. He came to know that Sherlock was the youngest of four archangels and he was well endowed with many supernatural abilities. He pitied humans and lower angels more than he pitied ordinary animals. They were "vulnerable and sufferable," as he had put it several times. John wasn't insulted, however, because it wasn't much of an insult. He knew the weakness he had against demons and angels, as the scar on his abdomen showed.

One day, though, Sherlock appeared in an excited manner, grey eyes bright. His wings twitched with exuberance and he seemed to grin as wide as his face could allow. John, who had been reading, looked over his book and raised an eyebrow.  
"John, you'll never guess," Sherlock stated, his voice pitched with such enthusiasm that John thought it had to do something with his angelic duties. He was mistaken, however, when Sherlock showed him a newspaper clipping with a headline that read " **RURAL FAMILY BRUTALLY MURDERED**." John, again, raised his eyebrow at Sherlock, who continued to beam at him.  
"Yes, a family was murdered. A tragedy. What about it?" he asked, seemingly aggravated to have been interrupted. The taller male shook his head, frowning with disgust at his response.  
"No, a case, John. We must be on our way!" Sherlock stated, yanking John to his feet with a yelp. John stared at him for a moment before frowning.  
"What?"  
"Demons, John. A case. Come on!"  
Oh, the wild goose chase he was about to depart on.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I'll have the next chapter up as soon as possible! Thank you for your patience. -Anthony


End file.
